Ophelia raises her hand in caution. ‘Before we proceed … Please remain calm when we get inside. It’s best to avoid sudden movements and loud noises. Especially you, Ana. Approaching the Nautilus should be quite safe. Luca and I are in and out of this cavern on a daily basis, and we’ve had no mishaps.’
Mishaps. The term seems like quite an egregious understatement, considering my parents died because of the Nautilus.
‘But you’re still worried,’ I note. ‘Because I’m the first Dakkar to approach the sub since … since the accident.’
Ophelia’s barbed-wire braids glisten in the dim light. ‘We’ve been working for two years to clean and repair the submarine’s systems as best we could.’
‘Hold on,’ Nelinha says. ‘You’ve been on board? It’s still got systems left to clean?’
‘It’s easiest to show you,’ Ophelia says. ‘Most of the sub’s higher functions are dormant because … well, operating them requires a living Dakkar. What happened with Tarun and Sita was most likely a malfunction, a misunderstanding. Still, we can’t be sure –’
‘A misunderstanding?’ I don’t mean to shout, but she’s talking about my parents’ deaths. I don’t feel like remaining calm.
Ophelia grimaces. She faces Ester.
‘Would you like to explain, my dear?’ Ophelia says. ‘I can tell you’ve figured it out.’
Ester picks at her blouse. ‘Ana, like I said, your parents’ death wasn’t an accident. The submarine killed them. I’m so sorry.’
My legs turn wobbly. ‘You make it sound like it was on purpose.’
‘It must have been angry,’ Ester says. ‘It had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean for a hundred and fifty years. Nemo abandoned it.’
‘Nemo died inside it,’ Ophelia says grimly.
‘Even worse,’ Ester says. ‘It didn’t have anyone to maintain its systems.’
‘Angry?’ I still refuse to understand. ‘Abandoned? How can a sub feel …？’
Dread washes over me. Some things I just do not want to realize, even when all the evidence is right there in front of me. ‘No,’ I say. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ Ophelia says. ‘Nemo created a prototype of what we would call AI, artificial intelligence. The Nautilus is alive.’
My whole life has led to this moment.
My parents sacrificed everything. I lost my school and my brother. My classmates risked their lives to cross the Pacific Ocean. Generations of Dakkars, Hardings and other HP graduates have lifted me onto their shoulders, living and dying in the expectation that someday a descendant of Nemo might once again board his submarine.
And all I want to do is run away.
When you dive, you learn to equalize pressure in your ear canals by pinching your nose and gently puffing air into your sinuses. The deeper you go, the more you need to do it. Otherwise your head starts to feel like a can of soda in the freezer. （Hint: never put a can of soda in the freezer.）
I wish there was a way to equalize my brain emotionally. I keep getting deeper and deeper. The pressure keeps getting worse. I can’t just pinch my nose and adapt to each new level of misery.
First, I believed my parents died in an accident. Then I was told they died recovering a priceless scientific artefact. Now I’m informed that this artefact is a living thing, and it killed my parents – maybe on purpose, maybe not. Gee, we really don’t know.
Oh, and, by the way, it’s right through this door. Would I like to meet it?
I’m not fully aware when I cross the bank-vault threshold. My mind is too busy see-sawing between rage and terror. I hear Ophelia saying, ‘Come.’
Nelinha takes me by the elbow. ‘I got you, babe. Let’s go.’
Then we are inside the dormant central vent of the volcano. Sheer stone walls soar upward, forming a cone-shaped cathedral of glistening black rock. I feel like I’m standing inside a gigantic hollowed-out chocolate drop. There is no floor – just a pier jutting into a wide circular lake.
Above us, dozens of dragonfly drones buzz through the air, their metal wings flickering in the glow of their jewelled eyes. Are they there for surveillance, or to provide light? Maybe this is just where the robo-bugs hang out when they aren’t piloting boats into the atoll or escorting lost freshmen through the base.
The lake is illuminated, too, from below. Clouds of what look like phytoplankton shimmer in the depths. I’ve seen bioluminescent blooms before, but they are usually blue. These tiny creatures, whatever they are, form thousands of constellations of orange, green, red and yellow, as if the lake’s entire biome has decided to hold a Holi festival. I wonder if my parents saw this, and if they had the same thought. Did they die surrounded by these bewildering nebulae?